Stray Bits
by TanithAeyrs
Summary: A collection of short works about the characters in "A Grey Warden's Honor."  Mostly prompts from the BSN Zev thread weekly contests. May contain minor spoilers for the main story.
1. Precious Metals

_This was written for this week's Zev thread prompt by payroo. What about all the silver and gold bars the Warden gives to Zevran? The 45 minute time limit gave me scant time for revision, so my apologies for any mistakes._

Precious Metals

Zevran turned the small silver bar idly in his hand, its smooth cool surface, the unblemished potential of the solid bar oddly appealing. Why had the Warden given him such a thing? He had been surprised when Aithne had gifted him with the boots, and then the gloves. But those, at least, he understood.

Over the last year the Dalish Warden had emerged from her suspicious shell and had taken the time to get to know all of her companions. Zevran glanced at Aithne, she was leaned in close talking earnestly to Alistair, no doubt comforting the naive oaf after their side trip to Ostagar. The Antivan shrugged, lately she was always taking the time to talk to every one in camp and give them little gifts; if she favored the human it was not his concern.

But the silver bar... What was it she saw in him that prompted such a gift? True, he had told her that, as a Crow, he rarely had much coin to spend. Still, if she wished to gift him with money, why not just give him sovereigns? The weight of the bar turned in his hand beckoning with its promise, its potential to become anything. Coin for goods, precious metal for delicate ornamentation (perhaps a pair of silver chased bracers), anything he should want. And the choice was his.

Turning away from the fire and the subdued conversation of his companions he looked north, to Antiva. Was that it? As a Crow he had bid on contracts for coin, for goods, for favors. The bidding was competitive and rarely did a Crow ask for much coin when Masters tended to favor payment is things other than hard currency. Fine wine, desirable lodgings, a coveted dagger, superior armor, these were the compensations of his trade.

The silver bar, in its unmarked perfection, represented choice. He could spend it, keep it, or have it crafted into another form. Choice that he never had until now, to stay or to go, to do only as he wished. The gift made sense now. Aithne's acknowledgement of how much the freedom to choose meant to him.

Zevran drifted to sleep that night, one hand resting on the sleek metal bar. He would leave it as it was. It was the best thing about his freedom to choose; there was no pressure to choose right now.


	2. Memories

Memories

The Crow instructors had always said the sense of smell was the most evocative of all of the five senses. Until now Zevran had not really believed it.

Inhaling the sharp bite of recently cured leather sent his memories tumbling back faster than the butter soft touch, the sight of the artful stitching, the silent footsteps he knew would be possible in such fine boots. Taste, well, that wasn't really part of experiencing fine leather, or perhaps it was….

A seven year old boy, the acrid tang of the tanning vats on his tongue, stumbled behind the Crow assigned to guide him to his new home. Excitement, he had been chosen as a Crow, not to be sold off as a slave to Tevinter or be aged before his time working upstairs in the whorehouse. He held the Crows in awe; they always had fine weapons, armor, well made clothes, full bellies. To a child in a brothel the Crows were magic and nothing so minor as the stink of new leather would dampen his spirits. There was some fear, he had heard the stories, but most of all anticipation…. He was no longer nothing.

Eight years old, relief quivering in his limbs as he followed the stink of rotting hides back to the barracks. A fall during the climbing exercise and they had to call a healer. Broken limbs mended but failure not forgotten, he had been taken to the edge of the city and told to use his training to find his way home. A test, was he worthy of the healing he had received? Pain throbbing in mostly healed limbs he had resolved to merit the accolade of "Crow". Dodging curses and kicks, another street urchin until he found his way back, he traced his path inhaling the pungent aroma of the tanneries.

Ten now, silent tears dried with threadbare blanket. Realization that failure truly wasn't an option. Mikael, slow and clumsy Mikael, had snapped at harsh criticism from a journeyman and buried his dagger in the man's back. Child Zevran had flinched at the crack of the whip, the spray of blood, closed his eyes as his barracks-mate was flogged to death as an example. Packed in with the other apprentices, tight as sardines on their tiny sleeping pallets, he was aware that his were not the only tears though none dared make a sound. Were the tears for Mikael's death, or for fear that he would be next? He had finally drifted to sleep by concentrating on the faint undercurrent of rich oils and dyes used to create the finest leather in Thedas.

Older now, a teenager, he was wrapped in the tingling afterglow of his first sensual experience. Zevran lay awake, the smells of the tanneries now a soothing oasis in which he relived the soft touches, the dizzying sensations, the ecstasy of release. The overcrowded barracks were home now, his bunk earned as a senior apprentice. No more crowded pallets with huddled, unwashed bodies on the floor. The cloying perfume of the courtesan lingered and combined with the familiar aroma of raw leather. He felt potent, capable, and dangerous. Zevran Arainai was someone to reckon with.

Sixteen now, Zevran stalked triumphantly into the tiny room he shared with the other senior apprentices. He was flushed with pleasure, unmindful of the tiny flecks of blood spattered on his right arm and chest under his shirt. Hidden in his left pocket was a gold earring and sheathed at his hip was the tiny dagger that brought him his first kill. No longer apprentice, Zevran was a journeyman, tattooed and blooded in his trade. He left the ripe scent of the tanneries with relief, journeyman quarters were in a better section of town.

Opening his eyes, Zevran reluctantly set the boots down before he tried them on. His bedroll was at the edge of camp and he caught the covert stares of the other members of the Warden's little group as he slipped into his new footwear. None of them trusted him, his assassination attempt too recent in their minds. He had been surprised when the aloof Dalish Warden had presented him with the boots. Surprised she had remembered his passing comments about Antiva. Looking up, he caught her speculative gaze and just a hint of an understanding smile. Perhaps here was a new home, a new start for Zevran Arainai.


	3. Adventurers Again

Adventurers Again

They sailed just past dawn, the _Thorn's Edge_ gliding away from the dock, and then surging forward as Zevran brought her about and the wind filled her sails. The air was humid and heat already rose from the land. The morning breeze rushed past them, alive with possibilities.

The children were gone, traveling to find their own destinies, the guild had been passed into capable hands and Aithne and Zevran were free. No longer shackled by duty and honor, released from the bondage of heroes, they could do as they wished. The last year had been spent refurbishing the sailing vessel, preparing her for adventures beyond an afternoon's pleasure cruise in the bay. Sailing had been an escape from the dangers and demands of ruling the most notorious guild in Thedas. It was a duty they had never wanted and shouldered only when no other solution could be found.

Aithne crossed the deck and settled against the railing where she could watch her lover. Barefoot and shirtless in the warm air he guided the small sailboat with a sure hand. She admired the taut muscles of his shoulders, his lean hips, the sure grace that normally belonged to a man decades younger. "Shall we anchor at Timbal Cay tonight?" The small island had once been home to a tiny plantation. A hurricane had destroyed most of the buildings and the island had been abandoned as too risky for permanent habitation.

Zevran nodded his assent to the plan, a tiny smile playing across his lips as he remembered the island.

That evening they anchored in the cove on the southern edge of the island. A quarter hour of diving yielded two fat lobsters and a brief excursion onto land left them with fresh fruit from an abandoned orchard. They dined on their bounty, supplemented by a bottle of fine wine from the provisions carefully gathered for their journey.

The sun was reflecting its descending blaze across the water when their meal was finished. Aithne gathered the dishes and headed for the galley while Zevran slipped off to gather more fruit for the morning. She had just put the last plate away and secured the latch on the cupboard when she felt his presence behind her.

"Pirate Zevran reporting for duty."

Turning she grinned, he was still shirtless and barefoot, but his golden hair was covered with a cloth tied behind his head and his right eye was covered with a makeshift eye patch. "Surely you will not ravish your pirate queen." Her fingers hooked in the waistband of his linen pants and pulled him closer.

"A pirate must admire the treasure he has collected." He swept his hands underneath her tunic and pulled it over her head.

"The question is, can he keep it?" She moved to dart away only to be trapped against the wall of the galley. His kiss was spices and wine with a hint of the salty sea.

Zevran gathered her in his arms and carried her to the deck. A blanket was laid under the stars, strewn with petals, jasmine and hibiscus. The scent swirled around them, heavy in the sea air, as he settled next to her his fingers familiar with every dip and curve after so long together.

The first pink hues of dawn found them, still curled together, content as they watched the sun sparkle across the water. Adventure awaited them, limited only by how far they wished to go.


	4. The Milkmaid's Bosom

_Yet another Zev thread weeky prompt entry. This takes place after the Blight but before Aithne and Zevran leave Denerim_

_Prompt: Black hole_  
_"Ha! Let's see... When was the last time I slipped my hand into some dark hole? Hmmm... Long story, that." _

* * *

The four companions had retired to Zevran's room for an evening game of Knave's Gambit. Leliana shuffled the worn card deck while Zevran poured the wine and Aithne closed the shutters against the crescent moon and the crisp autumn wind. Oghren was already slouched in his chair nursing a bottle of unknown and certainly dubious origin. Partners were chosen and the cards were dealt. Such relaxing evenings were rare in the turmoil of Alistair's newly established court.

"Daggers high, my trick." Zevran set the cards in a neat pile to his right.

Leliana laid a card down, ignoring Oghren's facial contortions as he attempted to signal his partner to adopt a new strategy. "I think I'll have my new composition done in time for First Day court."

"Does this mean we'll finally get to hear you sing something besides _Demon's Fall?_" Although it was a magnificent piece of music, Aithne was heartily sick of hearing the story of the blight over and over.

"_Lady of the Forest_ is the story of the werewolves and the elves. I've left the blight mostly out of it. The tale is sad enough on its own." Leliana hummed a couple of haunting chords.

"Sad stories, epic tales, why can't you bards ever sing something fun?" Oghren groused.

"What do you want, songs about that mad hermit in the forest?" Leliana sighed in exasperation.

"Now that you mention it, yes. Or, at least a song about the hole in his stump." Oghren attempted a sly grin. "I seem to recall someone mentioning a funny story about getting a hand caught in a dark hole…. Now that would make a song."

Zevran sighed, "I had forgotten about that."

"The story elf! You can't say you have a story like that and not tell it. Seems I've been waiting long enough to hear it." Oghren fixed his gaze on Zevran and waited.

"Very well. Keep in mind I was young at the time and it was only my second real assignment as a Crow. I was to assassinate the seneschal of a farmhold. The contract requested the death to look as natural as possible, so I managed to obtain a position working as a laborer to assess the situation. I had been on the farm for a week and, as the newest farmhand, all manner of nasty, dirty jobs had fallen to me. I was heartily sick of the situation, but a contract was a contract. Thus, when most of the workers headed to the village for Summerday fair, I volunteered to stay behind." Zevran sipped his wine and continued, "I spent the morning doing reconnaissance, looking for discrete methods for disposing of the seneschal. As the day warmed I found a nice spot in the shade of a barn for a nap. I was having a most pleasant dream, when I awoke to find it partly reality. There was this magnificent bosom, barely covered by straining fabric, hovering right before my eyes, and this vision was saying something about ropes."

"_Get up," She said. "We need to go now, Gitana is labor. I already have the ropes." _

"_What?" _ I said, the bosom heaving before my eyes. "_Ropes?"_

"_Come now. _She said."

"So I followed her into the pasture and across the stream to find a cow." Zevran sighed. "It was a cow trying to have her calf, and things weren't going well. We tied a rope to the foot that was sticking out and then she said I would have to feel inside to find the other foot. I reached my hand into that dark hole, and felt around. There was a head and two more feet. I slid my hand around until I could figure out which of the other feet went with the head and pulled. With the leg straight the calf came out with some pulling, causing a discharge from the other hole at the back end of the cow." His expression one of disgust Zevran continued. "The milkmaid pulled the first calf forward for the cow to lick off while I went back in for the second one. I was just pulling the twin when the seneschal walked up and demanded that we get the cow to the barn, RIGHT NOW. The cranky old buzzard grabbed the first calf to take it at the same moment as the second calf slid free. The cow jumped up with a bellow, knocked the old man into the stream and stomped on him. By the time she retreated back to her calves the fellow had drowned and my job was done."

Shaking his head, Zevran finished his tale. "I returned to Antiva City covered in bruises and smelling like a cheap brothel. The soap the milkmaid had given me to clean up was scented with flowers and it took five washings to get all the blood and other things out of my hair. Taliesen was amused, although I don't think he ever believed the true story."

Not two weeks later the taverns of Denerim rang with "The Milkmaid's Bosom", known in less polite circles as "The Hole Song."


	5. Consequences

_Zev thread prompt- Zevran as an instrument of fate_

Consequences

Zevran lounged in the parlor of the _Feathered Swan_, a modest brothel whose chief claim to fame was its distance from the docks and the pervasive stench of dead fish. Kamina should be arriving soon. He smiled a bit recalling her lithe figure stalking a target on his House's last combined mission with House Alanza. She was rumored to be as creative in bed as she was in dealing death; thus her invitation to meet him here had been more than welcome. The _Feathered Swan_, like most of the brothels in Antiva City, indeed in most of Antiva, kept a few rooms available to Crows for a slight fee. Zevran had already paid; this was personal business, not guild, so the coins came from his own pocket.

Kamina strode in, her bold steps and the slightly arrogant tilt of her jaw oozed a carnal appeal possible only in a confidant assassin.

Zevran's smile widened, "Kamina, my dear, you look positively delicious." He sketched a bow and made a show of admiring her. "No innocent Chantry Miss tonight, perhaps we should play pirates."

Her lips curved in an answering smile, remembering the disguise she had worn for their shared mission. "Hmm, I was thinking more Empress of Orlais."

"I, your humble chevalier, shall guide you to the royal suite."

"I do hope you brought something interesting to dine upon, my _appetite_ won't be satisfied with ordinary fare."

"Only the finest Antivan delicacies," Zevran purred.

Later, perhaps a full turn of an hourglass, Zevran slid a tiny dagger between two vertebrae just below the base of her skull. Kamina's expression of ecstasy turned to one of surprise, her lips shaping a silent "Oh."

Zevran lifted her limp body from the bed and set her gently on the floor (always best not to make more of a mess than needed – it kept one in the good graces of the madams).

With her fading strength Kamina managed to ask, "Why?"

"I'm sorry my dear, Grandmaster's orders." He gave her a final, gentle kiss before gathering his things and departing.

In the front parlor he slipped a scrap of paper out of his leathers and presented it to Madam Gitana. "The room will need a bit of clean-up, I'm afraid."

Her lips pursed for a moment as she unfolded the missive, then her expression turned to wary appraisal as she handed his coins back. The seal indicated his mission was from the Crow Grandmaster himself.

"Thank you, Madam." He sketched a bow and left, his steps casual and confident as he strode toward the docks. His nerves tingled as he contemplated the rest of the day's work.

Crouched next to Taliesen he watched the lazy flap of a curtain from their third-story perch. A fishwife called below, perhaps a block away, "Oysters, get your fresh oysters, ten coppers a dozen."

Zevran reached for his usual calm, this was no ordinary mission, these no ordinary targets. Taliesen shifted next to him with uncharacteristic impatience.

"Oysters, get your fresh oysters, ten coppers a dozen." The fishwife in the red shawl was almost to the front door of the house across the narrow alley.

The signal given, Zevran leapt, his body twisting to avoid the trap he knew lay on the floor below the curtained window. He landed and rolled, clearing the way for Taliesen to follow him. Zevran's daggers were out before he even stood, taking a slender elf lad through the throat, cutting off his cry of alarm. No time to be neat here, speed was all that mattered, they must strike before the House's defenses could be raised. Through the thin walls he could hear the muffled thumps as others of his own House entered and found their targets.

Zevran and Taliesen worked their way from room to room leaving a trail of death and blood behind them. It was not easy; their adversaries had the same training, the same tricks. Breathing heavily and both sporting minor wounds, they cleared their assigned section and proceeded to help clear the rest of the house.

Master Jerold was waiting in the front parlor when his house members had completed their sweep. "Well done, the Grandmaster will be satisfied. Let this be a lesson, each cell autonomous, but is finally subject to the Grandmaster's orders. Disobedience is not tolerated." He waved Zevran and Taliesen over. "Your work today was adequate, you completed more than your task. Take first choice of our new apprentices."

Zevran regarded the ragged group of children, separated from another group of their brethren under the charge of Master Lucero of house Nekana. A ragged human boy, perhaps ten years of age, caught his eye. There was intelligence there, and still a bit of defiance, unusual in a Crow apprentice of his age. He waited while Taliesen made his choice, a slender dark-haired elf girl, her youthful figure already displaying a wiry strength.

When his turn came he signaled the human boy to follow him and they left the stench of blood and sundered bowels, the reek of a House Alanza's destruction, to return to House Arainai's headquarters.


	6. First Kiss

_Zev thread prompt - first kiss_

**The Kiss**

Zevran lounged against the railing, looking down at the sparring session in the courtyard below. Tarzi, house Arainai's Weapon Master was putting the newest addition to his cell through her paces. The dark-haired woman had been part of a House Arainai cell in one of the southern cities of Antiva. The rest of her cell had been slaughtered when their attempt on a minor noble had turned sour. The noble had apparently been warned of their plans and even Rinna had barely escaped with her life. It had been several weeks since she had been reassigned to Taliesen's cell; her broken ribs and badly sprained ankle had kept her out of the practice yard until today.

Her movements were smooth and graceful, scarcely reminiscent of the shy, awkward child he remembered from the apprentice barracks. She jumped and spun with almost no hint of the pain from her barely healed injuries, she reminded Zevran of the sleek black hunting cats that stalked through the coastland forests in predatory silence. There, Tarzi had tapped her, a thin line of blood streaking her wrist in payment for a careless overextension. A wry grin twisted the blood elf's lips as he remembered many a similar correction from the Weapon Master. Once a Crow passed the apprentice stage they did not practice with blunted weapons, and a sparring session with Tarzi always resulted in blood and bruises.

The grey-haired Weapon Master drew the woman into the same set of maneuvers again, this time she pivoted and jumped instead of overextending; she was a quick study. Zevran decided she was worth watching, if merely for the aesthetics of her movements.

Two months later, a steamy summer night found their cell guarding an Orlesian diplomat's house. He had hired Crow protection to avert an attempt to remove him from The Game. A light drizzle did little to cool the silent watchers in the sweltering heat. Zevran was keenly aware of Rinna crouched in the shadows to his right, her presence a still spot in the restless breeze and light rain. His fascination with the newest member of his cell had continued; her sharp wit as attractive as her skills in weapons and stealth.

There, across the courtyard, a shadow slipping over the wall. Zevran kept his breathing even, if their information was correct this was only the vanguard. Their contract was to eliminate the bard and all of his companions. The shadow stole across to a tiny servant's gate and, within moments, had the lock opened and was ushering in more stealthy figures. He glanced over to Taliesen's position across the courtyard, careful to move only his eyes. The deeper shadows beneath a stand of magnolia trees concealed the rest of their force; Taliesen's group would take care of the main force, Zevran's job was to secure the gate and prevent their quarry from escaping. He and Rinna would also locate any enemy scouts left outside the walls and remove them. He frowned a little at that thought, their role tonight was similar to Rinna's mission in the strike that had resulted in the deaths of all of her cohorts. With a mental shrug he returned his attention to the task at hand. Now all the opposition was inside; it was time to move.

They slunk from shadow to shadow, concealed in the darkness and rain. Zevran left Rinna to guard the gate while he slipped outside to look for enemy reinforcements. One on the roof across the plaza, and three, concealed by the flapping curtain of the fruit stand; he signaled Rinna to take the roof as he started the process of approaching the group at ground level. They needed to be quick, to be back in position to stop anyone trying to escape from Taliesen's ambush.

Zevran's tiny crossbow twanged as he took the first lookout in the eye from scarcely ten yards away. His shot would alert the other two, but it evened the odds considerably. Trusting Rinna to secure the archer on the roof, he moved across the plaza, burying a dagger in on man's neck while they were still trying to support his first target. Some quick dagger work and the third man was down – quick and neat. Zevran was scarcely breathing hard when Rinna rejoined him, her own target down. Taliesen's group scarcely took longer and in the space of less than fifteen minutes they were done with the task and headed back to the House.

Zevran trailed his comrades, his heart still racing with the exhilaration of the chase, the shear predatory joy of matching wit, skill and speed against an opponent. Rinna dropped back with him, stopped for a moment to gaze at the moon as it crept from behind a cloud. Her eyes gleamed like justice and Zevran found his hand on her jaw, his lips seeking hers; a kiss of shared victory, a kiss of kindred spirit, a kiss because she appealed to him as no other woman had.

Its effect was electric; he felt the surge in his blood, the breathless gasp she made in shared experience. It was their first kiss, but it wouldn't be their last.


	7. Antivan Evening

_Zev thread prompt: involve Zevran in a specialization other than Assassin._

_So a tiny spoiler for my fic, but the prompt this week made me think about how the children's early lessons would go. _

**Antivan Evening**

Shadows crept and lengthened as the sun dipped below the trees, the musky scent of jasmine filled the humid air and in the twilight courtyard Zevran corrected Raelin's stance again.

"No, set your feet thus." He demonstrated, again. "Your balance is better and it's easier to evade a thrust when you aren't square to your opponent." His tanned hands closed gently over his daughter's small fists as she tried to bring her blunted rapier to a ready position. "Feel the way your weight moves, use footwork, not force, to carry your attack. Your advantage is lightness and speed, deft maneuvers and balance. If you try a contest of strength you will lose. Now, again!" He smiled and retreated a few steps, watching his daughter try to implement his words in her coltish, pre-adolescent body. It would be a few years yet, before she was able to use more than the most basic of the skills he taught, but every bit she mastered made her less vulnerable.

Raelin pressed an attack as he brought his dagger up to block her swings. Two steps, three, she lost her pattern, foiled by his unexpected parry. With a twist of his weapon he sent her rapier sailing in the air and caught it with his left hand.

"No fair, dad. I don't know that one yet." She paused her green eyes alight. "Will you show me?"

"All's fair in war. Do you think an attacker will fail to press you if you flail about and tell him you don't know his tricks?" His voice was soft, teasing; none of the harsh correction a Crow Master should give a pupil. Already he was handing her back the weapon and demonstrating the quick twist of his wrist Isabela had shown him so many years ago. Small hands followed his instructions, repeating the precise movement. He nodded in praise and dropped back to a ready stance.

They danced across the courtyard, his sallies designed to test her growing abilities and push her to greater speed. A subtle movement from the shadows alerted him a moment before a gout of flame flashed in the dim light. Eyes closed, he was already moving in the shadows before his eldest daughter could change positions.

"Very clever, light to destroy night vision, it might work on some opponents." He set blunt edged dagger to his adopted daughter's throat.

Mei, golden-haired and something a bit more than human, giggled.

He shifted and caught Raelin's hand as she blurred out of the shadows to press her attack in his distraction.

He laughed. "Lesson over, working together like that, you two will be the death of me. Let's see if we can sneak up on your mother."

More giggles erupted behind him as he again sought the concealment of shadow. Rae was a wraith behind him, blending in the night as comfortably as he did. Mei was credibly silent for a mage, but to his attuned senses she might as well have been an armored knight.

They found Aithne, seated cross-legged on the park-like lawn surrounding the villa, with Leif, their young son, mirroring her stillness as she spoke quietly. "Reach out and feel the life around you, feel the essence of the rabbit and call her to you."

"Want a wolf, not a rabbit. Rabbit's don't fight."

"When you can call a rabbit, we can talk about a wolf. It's the same talent, but you must master it before you call on a creature that may view you as dinner. Now think of the rabbit, nervous, hiding in her burrow. She can smell the Mabari; tell her not to be afraid. Insist she come, don't simply ask. Summon her to you." Aithne's voice wove a trance around the slender child, only just old enough to start to learn her skills.

Zevran waved the girls to remain where they were, afraid of disrupting the lesson.

Some minutes later, a small rabbit emerged from a nearby burrow and hesitantly hopped over to the child. Even in the uncertain light of dusk, Zevran could see the look of pride and delight on his son's face as the child lifted the furry body into his lap and stroked the twitching nose. He exchanged a smile with his Dalish lady, a mere flash of teeth as dusk sped toward evening.

"Time to go in. Let her go and you can call her another night." Aithne gave her son an affectionate pat on the head as she rose.

Leif released the rabbit to hop off and stood to be swept into his fathers arms. "You'll make a ranger yet, my lad." Zevran found a ticklish spot and the child dissolved into peals of laughter as the family walked back to the villa, silent Mabari guarding their retreat.


	8. The Price of Friendship

_Zev thread prompt: what friendship means to Zevran_

_Set two years before my fic and before Aithne and Zev's relationship has progressed past friendship. A bit AU as Zev did not go to Antiva while Aithne was in Amaranthine._

**The Price of Friendship**

The pouring rain plastered Zevran's hair to his head, soaked through his boots and filled the hole with each shovelful of dirt he lifted. Aithne labored beside him as they dug the final resting place for her beloved Mabari, Rabbit. He glanced at his silent companion, impossible to tell if there were tears mingled with the rain streaking her face.

It was supposed to have been a routine mop up of a stray group of darkspawn at Dragon's Peak. Zevran shook his head; his Crow training had taught him better, there was no such thing as a _routine_ battle. His lips twisted in a self-mockery – if he was still a Crow he wouldn't be digging a grave for a dog in freezing rain. It was friendship that held him, compelled him to aid the Dalish Warden in her final tribute to another friend.

Friendship had been a foreign concept most of his life. Not that he realized it at the time. There had been any number of Crows he had called _friend_, men and women he had partied with, trained with, and gone on missions with. But not true friends, not as he understood the word now. In his arrogance he had destroyed the one person he had actually cared for. No, he had not understood friendship at all.

Even after he met the Warden it was a long time before he learned to focus on another individual as more than a tool he could use. His first overtures to Aithne had been an attempt as seduction, which she had gently, but firmly refused. Instead, she had offered her ear to listen to his tales, to try to understand him, to be his friend. It had taken a long time for him to grasp that she wanted nothing in return for his life, that he was truly free to leave and pursue his own interests. When he finally realized he had his freedom, it was her friendship that made him wish to stay.

Later he realized that it pleased him to help Aithne, to try to make her burden lighter, even when it was inconvenient or contrary to what he wished to do. Not that he never argued her decisions or tried to find an easier way, but he backed her when she needed him to be there.

The water pooled around his boots as he continued to dig, silently remembering the times the Warden had been there for him, had defended him to her other companions, had stood with him against Taliesen, had offered him choices he had never had. She had trusted him to protect her former lover, now King of Ferelden when she went to Amaranthine. It had hurt him to be left behind, but he recognized the necessity of securing the safety of the naïve new monarch.

He remembered her return, tired and tempered harder by her short time as Arlessa of Amaranthine. He had bitterly regretted letting her go alone into danger, had been incensed by her reports of Crow attacks – not because he had actually expected the Crows to leave her alone- but because he wanted to protect his friend.

He lifted the last of the earth and muddy water out of the grave and set his shovel aside to help Aithne place Rabbit's body in the grave – to return him to the earth in accordance with Dalish tradition. He silently wondered if she would deal with this new loss the same way she had dealt with Alistair's wedding. He had followed her from the festivities after the king and his new bride had retired. Aithne had been drinking heavily all evening, her distress covered by superficial cheer. She had fled to the top of a tower and he had joined her, shared more wine and tried to distract her with his best risqué stories. Some hours later he had held her hair back as she emptied her stomach into the chamber pot and wiped the mess from her face. He had poured her into bed after removing her boots and sat vigil in a chair by the fire while she slept, fully aware that the Dalish Warden had never been drunk before.

His reverie was interrupted by the litany of elvish words she said as the small sapling he had unearthed for her earlier that day was placed in the freshly turned earth. He joined her in the Dalish song of mourning as they packed the last of the dirt around the tree, a memorial to a friend.


	9. Birthday

Prompt was Zev celebrating a holiday - this is a bit off target but it was fun to write anyway.

**Birthday**

The yellowed pages crackled under his fingers, out of place on the delicate mahogany desk, the dry scent of old paper and ink a sharp contrast to the musky perfume of the madam's office. He skimmed the cramped script outlining the day to day business of an Antivan brothel, searching for the entry he hoped would be there. There, a single line _9:02 Dragon, Summerday_, _male elf child named Zevran born to Zora. _The Grandmaster of the Crows continued his perusal of the page, stopping again after only a few more lines _9:02 Dragon, 1 Bloomingtide, Zora dead of opium overdose, child to be raised by Melissand._

"I believe it was an accident. Candice was very young and she was the only one able to attend Zora on a busy festival day." The years has added weight to Melissand's frame, her rosy girl-next-door features had not served her for many years in the oldest profession, but her sharp intellect and keen eye had been invaluable to the brothel and, eventually, had earned her the position of Madam.

The golden head lifted at her words. "What was she like?"

"Zora was very young and her unbending Dalish pride had not earned her many friends. She loved you though, even before your birth she would sing to you. I suspect she planned to run away, to take you back to her people. It was not a suicide."

"Do you know…?" Zevran's voice trailed off, as if afraid of the question.

"You arrived seven months after she was sold to pay her husband's debts; she was pregnant when she came. Madam Estebella was furious when she found out. I wish I could tell you more; she was with us such a short time. Take the book. And Zevran, happy birthday." Genuine affection for the child she had nursed at her breast was tempered by wariness of the man he had become. Her smile reflected both as well as a bit of cold calculation for the business his patronage could bring.

He stood, lean and graceful as a cat, his features cool as if they had simply been discussing the cost of services; he paused before he reached the door, turning back to the aging Madam. "Melissand, thank you."

"My place is here." She answered his unspoken question. "This may not be the most exclusive establishment in Antiva City, but it's certainly not the worst, and I take care of my girls." She grinned. "But I would not take it amiss if you would come visit me from time to time."

"Ah, using me for my reputation already." He laughed. "Of course I'll come."

In the parlor, he gathered two of the Crows who had accompanied him; then stepping outside, took his horse from a third who had waited near the entrance. Zevran pulled the bay stallion's head sharply away from the Crow before the animal could sink his teeth into the man's arm.

"I don't know why you put up with him." Rafael said, mounting his own horse.

"The same reason I put up with you, no one else would take him."

"Careful now, we can't have the Grandmaster going soft."

Zevran snorted, "No we can't have than now, can we." But the words held a bitter echo.

The music and laughter of Summerday festival surrounded them as they rode through the crowded streets. Two squealing children nearly darted beneath the horses' feet, only to be captured at the last moment by their scowling father, a sturdy dwarf who drew them out of harm's way with an apologetic bow. The incident reminded Zevran of another dwarf father and another birthday.

_Oghren passed the flagon of ale around again, pushing his friends to refill their cups. "A toast to my Felgren on his name-day."_

_The companions dutifully raised their cups in salute to the sturdy dwarf lad now celebrating his first birthday. Oghren had explained that the Shapers did not record a child's name in the records until they had survived to their first birthday – thus it was celebrated as their name day. On the surface, there was no Shaperate and no official records, but name-days were still celebrated as a special birthday._

_Leliana laughed as Felgren chopped at his cake with the little wooden axe his father had carved for him as a birthday gift. "I always loved birthdays as a child, we always had cake and my mother would give me a small gift – usually a doll of some sort. What about you Oghren?"_

"_Pretty much like my lad here, sweets and a toy sword or axe, only proper for warrior caste."_

"_And you, Aithne?"_

"_The Dalish are a bit more practical, a new cloak or boots, sometimes we would have a special dessert." _

_Leliana had turned to Alistair then. "What about you?"_

"_Raised by dogs, remember. They don't keep track of the calendar much."_

"_Seriously Alistair, I can understand if Eamon never celebrated it, but you must have done something for your birthday."_

"_I don't know when it is."_

_Zevran had been surprised to feel a twinge of pity as the big man shifted uncomfortably next to him._

_Alistair's candid reply had given Leliana pause for only a moment before she declared, "Well then, since we are all here, we'll just have to celebrate today. A toast to Alistair on his birthday." She had raised her mug and drained it in salute and all the companions followed suit. _

_The Orlesian bard had then turned to Zevran to continue her line of enquiry, but had stopped with the question framed on her lips at his expression. Leliana had slipped out shortly after that to see to formal arrangements for the king's birthday. Zevran had thought no more of it until he found a fine bottle of Antivan red wine in his chambers later that night, and each year after that on Alistair and Felgren's shared birthday._

Returning to the present Zevran made a mental note to tease Leliana about giving him birthday gifts on the wrong day for years.

_Author's note: Celebrating a name-day for the Shaperate's official recognition of a child is my own invention and not part of official Dragon Age lore._


End file.
